


My Moon

by ButtTouchBrigade



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Drunk!Bilbo, Everyone lives, Fix It Fic, Fluff, Lot of fluff, M/M, Too much fluff, aaahahaha, spot the got references, tipsy!thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtTouchBrigade/pseuds/ButtTouchBrigade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This-” Thorin started, but cut himself off as he slipped on a golden platter and fell flat on the pile of gold. He apparently wasn’t particularly sober either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Have a little bit of ooc fluff.

It was past midnight. Past the time that he could care. They had won. Azog was dead. Erebor was Thorin’s. Thorin was king. It was all that mattered. It was all that he had the capacity to care about at that very moment.

 

Bilbo waddled around the halls of Erebor, a bottle of wine snugly resting between his fingers and his thumb. He pushed himself off walls and columns to keep his balance, looking hard at the ground as it morphed and changed shape under him. He emerged on one of the many staircases that led around Erebor’s treasure. Almost blinded by the golden light, Bilbo squinted, leaning against the wall and covering his eyes with his forearm. Once he was adjusted to the brightness, he braved a look at what had been the beginning of his demise.

 

His breath caught in his throat. Thorin was standing in the midst of Erebor’s lost treasure, admiring it. Bilbo stood on the steps above it, unwilling to set foot again on those dunes of coins and jewels. Despite his mind being in a drunken haze, he remembered strongly what it felt like when each of the coins moved under his feet, with the potential of waking up a dragon. He fiddled with the bottle of wine he was holding, trying to look at it straight. But that was impossible. His vision blurred slightly, before twisting, and the hobbit had to shake his head to clear it. The Dwarf turned around, and his piercing blue eyes met with Bilbo’s soft hazel ones. The Hobbit found himself forgetting how to breathe.

 

“This-” Thorin started, but cut himself off as he slipped on a golden platter and fell flat on the pile of gold. He apparently wasn’t particularly sober either. Bilbo giggled at first, finding the sight funny, but when Thorin made an attempt to sit up and only ended up sinking even more under an avalanche of money, the Hobbit howled with laughter and was quickly joined by the newly crowned King of Erebor. Their laughter, a chorus of joy and reminiscence, echoed through the endless halls of the mountain.

 

The King regained his composure and tried to made his way back to the steps that the Hobbit was standing on. His steps were mismatched, and he could not walk straight. He slipped more than once, earning delightful giggles and chuckles from his partner. Once he finally reached Bilbo, the smaller creature was watching him with drunken amusement.

 

“My sun,” Bilbo slurred, leaning his shoulder against Thorin’s leg and closing his eyes. 

 

“My stars,” Thorin answered, burying his hand in the Hobbit’s soft, amber curls. “How much did you drink?” he asked softly, fiddling with a strand of hair. Bilbo raised the bottle of wine in response, showing him that it was completely empty.

 

“Three of those?” the Hobbit answered, almost as if he was asking himself. The King hummed in response, pushing Bilbo away so he could plop down next to his burglar.

 

“So, a lot.” Bilbo didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned on his King’s shoulders, mumbling something about not caring. Thorin chuckled as Bilbo dozed off on his shoulder. Once the Hobbit was completely asleep, drooling on his shoulder and twitching at random times, Thorin snaked an arm around his waist and picked him up.

 

He watched Bilbo’s sleeping face the entire walk to his chambers. He didn’t even realize bumping into several walls, columns and doors. He’d notice the next few days, when bruises would show up on random parts of his body, and he would question where they came from. But for now, he was fixated on the Hobbit’s fluttering eyelids, and his soft eyelashes, and his partly opened mouth.

 

He gently laid Bilbo down on his bed, and he looked so perfect, lying here, his fists curled up by his face, his button nose slightly reddened by the alcohol. Thorin smiled, leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He brought his hand up to Bilbo’s face and gently brushed the burglar’s hair away from his face.

 

“My moon,” he whispered to the sleeping hobbit. “My stars.”

 

  


End file.
